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Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Bohemia by Veronika Carnaby: Interview & Excerpt

In her debut novel, Veronika Carnaby picks up where the Beat
Generation left off. Set in 1960, Bohemia
chronicles a group of twenty-somethings who defy the "ideals" of a
mid-twentieth century society to seek creative fulfillment. In the process,
they spotlight the creative path that artists of all mediums tread, all the
while depicting the challenges faced by youth in the decade that changed the
world.

I took to the heart of the town by foot, passing by the shingled buildings, wooden
cross bridges, and soggy, leaf-adorned porches of New
England. I just loved experiencing the newness, tasting a wacky
flavor, bursting with the spirit of suburbia, indulging in the evening sunsets,
blooming pine trees, and piles of dried-up grass, something which just wasn’t
readily disposable in the city. I made my way down Main Street, the area of Nashua that pulsated with small town energy
more than anywhere else. To my left, a local vendor sold “true blue American
cheese” for 40 cents per pound. To my right, a faux Native American that donned
a full headdress and woven boots glared at the passersby with an eager look on
his face that spoke, “I am here in my native country, my native land, no matter
what. Take me away, but my soul is here to stay.” I felt a pang of
encouragement after taking a seat on a bench next to it. People went about
their daily routines, carrying bags full of groceries, riding bicycles with
flowery wicker baskets, chasing after the rowdy squirrels that crossed their
paths. I found myself amidst a splendidly tame environment that felt as if it
would never succumb to the pressures of daily life, the intimidation from its
larger metropolis cousins, no matter how many times it was jabbed with vicious
intent.

Farther aside, a group of gals sat on a
bench and from the looks of it, were deep in conversation about rehearsed
choreography that was miraculously synchronized—nothing like our wild and
spontaneous twist or boney moronie. I outstretched my ear to catch a word or
two of their conversation. “Girls, make sure you move your right leg to the
left and crisscross it with your left leg on the count of three. Take it from
the top.”

They then demonstrated the Hully Gully and
actually howled at the top of their lungs like four Billie Holidays at the same
time. No accompanying musicians—they made their own music. I was astounded.
There were four of them: Nora was the one with the dirty blonde ‘do tied over
with a towel. She seemed the unofficial leader, followed by Paige, long-flowing
fringe girl with long limbs to match. Whatever Nora did or didn’t approve, she
would back 110% ,which often lead her into trouble. Then there was Edith, a
squeamish broad who scrunched up her nose and squinted her eyes past her frizzy
lion’s mane and looked like she was lived in her own little world beyond Main Street, beyond
the state, and possibly the planet. And finally Arabella, a plump figure who
tried as best she could to keep up with everyone, but obviously lagged well
behind the other three when it came to creative contributions.“Hold on, hold
on. I didn’t catch that very well. Let’s do it again,” she called out with a
mouth full of crumbs. From what I gathered, they weren’t one bit talented when
they were apart, but put them together and they were some hepcats, something to
be marveled at.

I watched the group on from afar. “Great,”
I thought to myself, “now that I’m on my own, perhaps I’ll nudge my way in and really dance this time—sing too! Ah, ah,
ah, maybe, maybe.” I caged myself in the nearby bushes to prevent them from
seeing my prying eyes. A half hour went by in studying moves and reassuring
myself of all the good that would happen in the future when I joined in on
their act, how all the pieces would fit together, how I’d finally achieve a
state of completeness. I wasn’t sure if madness set in or if I was just plain
coming to my senses, but after sitting among leaves and twine for what felt
like days, the time came to come clean out of the shadows and approach
them.

The day broke gloomy and imminent clouds
appeared. While everybody scattered for shelter, I headed to the four girls
sitting on the bench who had yet to notice the flurry of panic that these
clouds brought on to bystanders. They were getting ready to leave and
discussing where and when they were to meet again, which bus to take to which
station, how much change they’d need to spend, and so on, when all of a sudden,
“Tally-ho!” Edith pointed to me in hysterics. Slowly they all ceased whatever
they were chattering on about, becoming but a mere paralyzed version of
themselves.

“Hi there. You looking for anyone to
join?” I blurted out senselessly before I even introduced myself. I forgot that
they couldn’t see me in the same way that I watched them from the prickles.
Delirium took over. Nora looked me up and down, snarled her lip, and asked, “
What’s your name, honey?” She tapped her lacquered high heels on the pavement
as the rest of them looked on from behind her shoulder.

“Valerie Freed.”

“Shucks, of course! We could always
recruit a new person in our group, can’t we Nora?” Arabella confided in Nora
but only received a stone cold stare that must have pierced through to the core
of her heart. Nora looked down, licked her lips, batted her eyelashes in a mean
sort of way, and circled around me with her arms folded and her shoes clacking.
She said, “Well, Valerie Freed. Show us what you got.” I did a little jig here,
a bit of twist there, some hand jive, and ta-da’d! She was less than
impressed.

“Sorry,” she said as she unfolded her arms
and put her coat on, “we have no room for new members. Come on girls, let’s
go.” She led the way off the bench and down the street, with their pretty
ribbon-tied ponytails flopping back and forth. Edith, Arabella, and Paige
trailed behind and looked half-confused, half-sorry for me. They disposed of me
like a piece of trash. In a matter of minutes, I went from admiring and
imagining what could be to standing deserted on the sidewalk and wondering what
could have been.

Welcome Veronika! Thanks for this opportunity to learn a little more about you. Have any of your characters been modeled after
yourself?

Yes. I admit that this
is somewhat of a semi-fictional account of circumstances I’ve encountered in
real life. Some of the characters are based on people I’ve known. Most of the
scenes in the book do, in fact, stem from personal experience. Valerie Freed is
somewhat of a reflection of myself and of the ups and downs I’ve faced on my
creative journey. Her battle with finding her niche, chiseling her literary
craft, and knocking down doors to get noticed is a good summary of the
whirlwind road I’ve traveled up to this point. What excites me most, however,
is that the relatability of the characters. Ideally, everyone who reads this
book will be able to see a little bit of themselves in Valerie, Roxford, Emm,
or any other character for that matter.

What do you find most rewarding about writing?

The fact that I can embark on a mental journey that
transports to a magical place through the writing. That’s my definition of
freedom, anyway. The only other feeling I can compare it to is listening to a
beloved song. I’m convinced that the arts could be something of a higher power.

How do you react to a bad review of your book?

By this point, I’ve had my share of criticism and
rejection. Fortunately, I’ve realized that it comes with the job description
and that you can’t take it personally, because it’s business. You also can’t
escape negativity, and that goes for any avenue in life. Everyone has their
critics. Why should some foul word-slinging curb my ambitions? Besides, it’s
all subjective, anyway. Just because one person doesn’t take a liking to the
end product, doesn’t mean that nobody else will. At the end of the day, it’s
about the reader’s take.

Is there a piece of advice that you have received
that has really stuck with you? If so, what was it?

I used to conduct interviews with artists in the
start of my career and I once asked someone, whose name I’ll conceal for
privacy reasons, the same question. Her answer struck me and has stayed with me
to this day. She said, don’t be afraid to reach for the impossible. You never
know who’ll open that door you’re knocking on. That mindset has carried me
through to this day.

Describe what it’s like to be an author in three
words.

Difficult, fulfilling,
introspective.

Beatles or Monkees? Why?

Ha! While I admire both bands immensely, I’d have
to give this one to The Beatles. They’ve influenced my life and career probably
more than anyone else has in music and in
literature.

What books have most influenced your life?

If we’re talking about one writer’s catalog of
work, that’d most certainly be Jack Kerouac’s. On the Road, Maggie Cassidy, The Dharma Bums, even just the letters
he exchanged with Ginsberg, each and every work of his helps me grow as an
author. That being said, I can’t narrow his work as my sole influence, since I’ve
pinched a bit from many, many more that I couldn’t begin to list. And just when
I think I’ve read it all, I discover something new to grow from. It’s a
constant eye-opening experience.

Do you have any suggestions for beginning writers?
If so, what are they?

When the
world turns its back on you, for God’s sake, don’t get discouraged.

American
author and poet, Veronika Carnaby, possesses a vintage charm that transcends
well into her written works. Over the years, her Beat-style prose pieces have
gained international recognition after appearing in such publications and
functions as The Ed Sullivan Show, Empty Mirror Magazine, SESAC Magazine, SXSW,
and the SESAC New York Music Awards, among others.Today, Carnaby continues to infuse her
writing with a poignancy and passion for 20th century culture, music and
literature. Find out more and stay updated at her official website and official
Twitter account, @VeronikaCarnaby.

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